


PROTEA. FLOWER OF CHANGE

by creativityatbest



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (is it because it rhymes? maybe), Dysphoria, E stands for Estrogen tbh!, F/M, Slight Smut, Soulmate -- Initials, Transgender, i write so much trans dan sorry not sorry, like too much pining, needles tw, pining af, taking estrogen (THROUGH NEEDLES), trans!dan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-06-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:46:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityatbest/pseuds/creativityatbest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there is courage in actions, but courage comes in the form of words too. dan howell is about to experience this for herself as she enters a new phase of her life, and discovers the name she’s been searching for ever since she realized she was trans. phil lesters words are different, they are splayed across his wrist, tying him to a name dan’s spent years searching for</p>
            </blockquote>





	PROTEA. FLOWER OF CHANGE

**Author's Note:**

> a/n; this was my exchange fic! sorry it was posted so late but a few trips came up where i had no service (screams) or there was no time for me to post anything (ADU) so here it is now. this was so much fun to write and i loved everything about it!! i hope you all enjoy this and thanks to @phandaya( (on tumblr) for helping me out with betaing in such short notice!!
> 
> written for @dannydadvito (on tumblr) !! i hope you enjoyed it!

 

Most days turn into this, sunny skies turn grey, the sun disappears below the surface to let darkness rule the land, let the moon rule over its uncordial subjects for a while, let my mood sink like a bowing ship into the unforgiving waves.

I find myself thinking about a lot, more than I should if I want to feel a-okay my whole life. I can’t stop it, can’t help myself from finding the nearest piece of carpet and sprawling myself across the floor. But it’s not a spinning horrible black hole of existential fear -- not most of the time, anyway -- it’s a little big thing called dysphoria. 

Dysphoria is big and small, it’s okay and not okay, it’s horrible and it's calm. Dysphoria is the sea, one second calm waters are lapping at your feet, maybe a few big waves escape and slap up your whole leg, then the next the waves are the size of you and your body is being tugged towards the almost bottomless, completely terrifying, emptiness of the ocean.  Dysphoria is that bitchy girl from school who only came after you when she felt like it or saw you happy. Sometimes the insults were fine but sometimes she threw the real shit that made your chest ache from still tears and all you can do is smile.

There’s not much you can do either, nothing you can really do to work it away instantly. Just slowly distract yourself and chip it inch by inch until it’s gone from mind for another day.

It’s bipolar, one day hitting you so hard that getting up seems so lacking and your mind keeps beating you down at the idea of even being a boy in the future. On others, you can just walk around in the headspace with a broad smile and swaying hips.

Today is another bad day, another lay on the floor day, another day that Phil asks what's wrong and I laugh and reply. “The same thing it always is.” But he doesn’t get what I actually mean, that I feel like my dick is fucking stupid and my flat chest is fucking stupid and everything in the world is fucking stupid.

And the worst part, the fucking most despicable part. Phil doesn’t know, my best friend in the entire world and beyond into the stars has no idea. I wish I could tell, I’ve tried to tell him over the span of 6 years but I can’t force the words to form, the sickness in my throat always wins over. Baby. Someday maybe I’ll tell him, of course I’ll probably be too drunk to stand but some day the words will spill from my heart and stain the floors of our best friendship until he can’t take it and disappears into the night.

The day Phil knows is the day everything falls apart. I know it deep in my heart, the day Phil knows is the day my heart breaks at the sound of a suitcase zipper. I’ve heard him talk about it before, 6 years ago, back in 2009 on a phone call with his friend. The memory always warps, changes with time like molding bread. Sometimes he’s screaming it, sometimes he’s emotionless, like a washed out painting. Sometimes he’s even looking at me in the little mirror beside his bed, staring into my eyes. With every memory, the feeling of no in the pit of my stomach seems to expand 10 times what it was.

“It just seems weird to me,”

  
“It’s not natural,”

I wipe a tear from my eye and continue to stare at the slightly brown coffee stain on our grey wall. Phil’s doing, he made me stand in front of it when we got our apartment inspected, three times. We need to get a leaning picture frame for it before the landlord wonders why I hang out in the stairwell so much. The carpet is scratchy under my face and it’s driving me crazy , but I have no will to move at the moment. My thoughts are too jam packed for my emotions to find their place.

My eyes catch the tattoo forever stuck to my wrist, my binding curse, the swirl deep blue letters spelling out my soulmates initials, PML. I’ve attempted to draw over it, scratch it out, but the letters transcend drawings and I am stuck.

Ever since I was 18, I stopped believing in soulmates. It came from endless scrolling through tumblr, one day I just clicked upon a blog against the soulmate clause. All the evidence swayed me and the day Phil showed me his tattoo just cemented it all.

LJH are the initials on Phil’s wrist, one -- fucking one -- letter away from mine. Now I know Phil, and I have grown up around soulmates my whole life, I know the universe chose us, I know that somehow in the endless, vastness of the universe somehow there was a mistake. There has to be. Phil is my life’s companion, it’s just natural.

I don’t know what a soulmate is, if it’s someone you're comfortable with, if it's bestest friend to make out heavily with whenever you wanted. What I do know is, I’ve seen soulmates fight, I’ve seen soulmates spit and hate each other despite the names on their wrist. A soulmate can be anything, I reckon. Phil doesn’t see it that way though.

Phil and I have been going to bars every Sunday for 4 years. Phil is having this huge crisis on getting married before he turns thirty and I’ve been left to sit on the sidelines, seeing him try and fail to find his someone.

It’s torturous to watch Phil’s smile drop as someone presses their wrist to his, only to not be the elusive LJH; and I feel my own heart break with his.

Sometimes we don’t even look. Sometimes Phil is so beat down that we down drink after drink and I dance in front of him to a loud pop song, until he stands with me. Those times are the best, those times I can tell myself we’re two friends having a nice Friday night. I can tell myself that we’re not a trans woman with a fucking name and a complete mess of a boy whose heart has been broken and sewn back together so many times that it beats off the clock. I’m free in my headspace those nights, those nights flutter through my heart and make my head sing. When I’m free, Phil’s free too. I can see the smile in his eyes when I’m humming while making breakfast some mornings, and when I’m slouched into the couch, tapping my foot against the coffee table.

Phil is out clubbing now, the first time he’s gone alone in years. Some part of me -- the bitter, selfish, completely raw part -- hopes he comes home empty handed and cuddles with me like he does when I feel shitty. I can’t help but want him all to myself; I’m selfish and that's okay. At least I hope so.

I turn over onto my back just as my phone vibrates against my pants. I shudder and sigh as the familiar beat buzzes into my skin. E time. I’m used to taking it around this time, as Phil always takes a shower at 7:30. Normally I skip Sundays but maybe I’ll feel a smidge better if I do it now. E helps me remember I’m getting somewhere. When I look in the mirror and see my face softening and stomach curving inward, It fills me with a deep satisfaction. It makes me feel like this is working, this is real.

I begrudgingly take my phone out of my pocket and delete the notification. Then I call PJ, who helps me as my fear of injecting the needle wrong makes my hand shake too bad to do this on my own.

He picks up on the third ring, voice scratchy and drawled. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I sit up and stretch out my back with a groan. “I need a shot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be out with Phil?” PJ asks, a hint of something sharp in his voice that I can’t place.

“I was feeling shitty so I stayed home. Are you helping me or not?” I pull myself to my feet, though my whole body is telling me to lie back down and stare into space until my brain turns to liquid thought.

“Give me a minute,” I can hear the bed sheets crinkling as he got up and padded around his apartment beside ours.

“1… 2…” I count playfully and walk towards my bedroom where I’ve hidden my needles in the side table. I grab the small box with a big red plug and bring it downstairs into the living room with me. I’m grabbing the water when there’s a knock on my door.

The moment I swing it open, PJ walks inside; stuttering through the house like he owns the place. He sprawls out on the couch and grabs the gloves from the table, tugging them on. “Do you want a towel?” He asks. He knew that I varied between wanting my underwear covered and being okay with him seeing everything. He really was a sweetheart.

“Today, yeah,” I smile and pull my yoga pants off. PJ turns his head to the side so I have some privacy, the action makes me smile brightly.

I sit down next to him and prop my right leg up on his lap. The towel is set and I grab a pillow to hug, “Ready.”

He nods and begins opening the case. While he puts everything together, we chat about the most random of things.

“Phil still trying to find his dream soulmate at a club?” PJ asks as he screws the needle in place.

“Yeah. I swear someday he’s going to give up and marry a fan with white-out over their initials.” PJ laughs loudly as he roots around the little box again. He hands me the alcohol wipes and I wipe my leg off with a slightly shaky hand. I hate this part so bad.

“I wish. Can you imagine the nicknames in high school you get for having BJH on your arm? They called my soulmate Blowjob Horny for three years!” He joked.

I chuckle and feel my chest constrict as I giggle harder into my pikachu pillow. “Blowjob Horny. T-that is goals as fuck.”

“You be quiet Mr. Penis- Penis Mango Lips,” PJ pushes against my knees, causing them to knock together and me to laugh more.

“Penis M-Mango Lips. Y-you tried so fucking har-d,” I nearly double over but PJ rights me. My head slips away from its bad thoughts and for a few seconds, headspace clouds my brain. Well I call it headspace for lack of a better word, it’s more of a..a, you see why I can’t just snap my fingers and get it? That’s a lot of what gender feels like. Why wasn’t born a girl? Why couldn’t I have had a hormone deficiency that made everyone instantly understand and let me transition? Why why why? There is no answer and I don’t want to look for one. I just want to be a girl on the outside to match the one on the inside. Then I’ll be happier than ever.

I don’t even notice that PJ has inserted the needle until he’s placing the sweet, that I get after every shot, into my hand and is about to pull the needle out. I force myself to look away and stifle a scream when I see the door slide open slowly -- so slowly.

Time slows down. I actually do end up squealing but I keep myself from jerking away from the needle as Phil comes into view. He’s got his arm wrapped around a girl and they look so happy, oh so happy. The girl tilts her head back to laugh and Phil glances at us. He drops the girl and she catches herself on the chair last minute.

“Dan? What the fuck are you doing!?” He charges forward, concern covering the anger in his eyes. PJ takes out the needle and hurries to put my case back together. Even turning it over to hide the plus.

Meanwhile, my skin is frozen and my stomach is turning. My outer self is in shock while my insides melt away like ice cream on the summer sidewalk. My mind screams as Phil nears and my thigh burns. I tensed too hard around the needle.

“Out!” Phil spins around and points at PJ. “Get the fuck out of my house! How dare you! How dare you!”

PJ -- being the smart samaritan he is -- books it out of here so fast that I can hear the door slam before Phil even gets over to the girl on the floor. My mind is reeling and the small squeeze PJ left on my shoulder before he left, feels like nothing at all. Phil knows, he knows. For some unexplained reason, that is what kills me. My head is spinning and I feel dangerously close to throwing up.

“I’m so, so sorry but you need to go. There’s been a problem,” Phil helps the girl up and almost drags her too the door.

“Phil.. You’re overreacting,” I creak, he can’t be this mad about me being trans, can he? I thought he wasn’t transphobic! He told all the fans he could never! I thought, well, now I don’t know what I thought. Right now my mind is plagued by pure panic.

“I’m overreacting? I’m fucking protecting you Dan!”

I’m going to throw up. Or maybe have a breakdown on the middle of the floor.

The door slams again and with every step Phil takes up the stairs, I flinch. Oh god, he’s going to ask me to leave. I don’t want -- no -- I can’t leave. This is our home, this is my safe place, this is my happy place.

This is the place I go to whenever I’m home alone, turning the lights off for the night. My happy place is laying on the couch next to Phil, talking about next to everything and scrolling through our laptops. Home is where your heart is, my heart is here, with Phil and a warm cup of tea and my favorite fuzzy blanket that Phil always steals a corner of. Home is breathing in Phil’s scent, moments before falling asleep on his shoulder during an all night movie fest. Home is shoving him over when he wins a videogame and helping him back up so we can play again; thighs pressed together, characters spinning wildly as we pushed every button we could. ‘Fuck strategy, I’m here to win’ has become a close inside joke for us.

Phil sits next to me on the couch and looks at me sadly, borderline disappointed. He’s never looked at me like that, he’s looked sympathetic, he’s looked heartbroken, but he’s never looked disappointed -- maybe he hasn’t let me see it until now.

“Dan, you know that I love you,” he begins and I grip the needle box to my chest, hearing them rattle vigorously as I shake. “But -- please -- kids look up to you, they want to be you,” God, I didn’t prepare myself enough for this moment. “And Dan, I don’t want to lose you,” Please, please, please make it stop. Someone, please. “That stuff is so bad for your health, physically and mentally.” Not Phil, you could take the sun out of my sky but not Phil. Anything but Phil. I can’t do this.

I get up and I run. I shove the bathroom door open with my hip and the pain in my thigh, mixed with the panic of being outed, and the fear of Phil rejecting me causes me to vomit into the toilet, immediately.

I don’t leave the bathroom.

I don’t sleep.

//

you start off with a black coffee, any mug will do

//

Wisps of the early morning sun stream in from between the heavy curtains. My head sits on the carpet, slightly damp from my face scrub. My face burns from the towel, water and soap. My back is killing me from sleeping at such an odd angle, tucked between the toilet and sink. I can feel the tears build, once again, as my mind goes to last night -- I force them away and move. My breath is shaky and changes pitches as I pick up my E box and set it next to me on the counter. My hair has curled overnight and become a stuck up mess atop my head. My shirt is crumpled and has a green vomit stain on the collar. I pull it off and toss it in the hamper. I look dead, my eyes sunken and puffy. My face is covered in red curls from the carpet, my whole face is red from the towel I used to scrub my whole being away.

My stomach grumbles, and after a few seconds of pacing, I work up the courage to open the bathroom door. I almost scream at the black mass on the floor, for a split second thinking that someone had crawled in and died overnight. I lean down a bit and see Phil’s face stuffed between his elbow and the floor. Sighing gratefully, I pull his blanket up over his shoulders again. He stayed by me all night, that has to mean something.

I groan at the idea of confrontation and set a pot of coffee on the kettle for Phil. A habit built up over time as I always wake up before Phil and get bored easily in the morning. I wouldn’t describe myself as a ‘morning person’, I’m more of a ‘better in the morning than Phil, like any functional human being’ person.

I lean against the counter, playing with my half full bowl of cereal, and wait for Phil to come in and determine my fate -- kind of. Even if he does kick me out, my only friend lives right next to us so that may not work out great.

The pitter patter of Phil’s socked feet on carpet, rings through the house like a movie where every movement in amplified by ten. I can almost hear the instrumental Imagine Dragons song now. I press most of my body into the counter and stir Phil’s coffee -- absolutely fucking drowned in sugar and creame -- before he can arrive.

Phil pushes the glass door open, huge bags beneath his eyes and a yawn escaping his lips.

I tense, waiting for the blow, the final verdict, my doom to be presented on a fine silver platter.

Phil takes his cup and leans on the counter opposite me. He winces as he leans over and cracks his neck multiple times. I turn up my nose and he gives me a small smile.

“My back hurts like a bitch. You’re lucky I love you,” he says finally and blows on his drink nonchalantly.

My entire body tenses and I wait for him to continue. He continues to drink as if he’s said nothing and moves back from the counter.

“So, new season of Haikyuu?”

“W-what?” I curse myself for stuttering and Phil looks at me queerly.

“What’s wro- oh, shit I forgot for a second there. I wondered why you were so quiet. Dan, I know you like it, I know it makes you feel good but it’s… it’s going to kill you,” Phil sighs and buries his head in his hands.

I can feel the tears welling again and a wet sob leaves my throat. I lean against the counter and force a bite down my throat.

“Speed is just such a bad drug and even if PJ’s with you, that scene is so dangerous. You get it, right?”

Silence. I look at Phil, Phil raises his eyebrows at me.

I spit out my cereal as I laugh and have to set the bowl down as not to spill and ruin the cabinets. Phil scrunches his forehead and sets his mouth in a grim line.

“This isn-”

“Phil, please. Did you really think I was some junkie?” I’m basically crying from a mix of relief and humor and bury my face in my hands.

“W-wait. What?” Phil stutters and his jaw drops open. “That wasn’t?”

“No, no of course not. I’m not stupid, Phil. I wouldn’t let someone bring me into that stuff,” I laugh and start to eat my cereal again.

“Then what were you doing?”

I shrug out of habit, my body turning hot. Through my mental breakdown I didn’t even think to make an excuse.

“I’ll stop, promise,” I finally force myself to say. Phil surges around the counter, he tugs my head onto his shoulder and kisses above my ear. I can feel his heart beating fast against my cheek and his shirt wrinkled from the floor. I let him hug and coo over me as I silently berate myself for not just sucking it up and telling him.

Just the berating makes my stomach jump and my throat tense.

“You’re strong, Dan, stronger than anyone I know. You’ll make it out of this. I love you.” Phil runs a warm hand down my back and lets me get in a few tears before he pulls back with a deep breath.

“Haikyuu?”

“Haikyuu.”

“Maybe Haikyuu will be our al-”

“Say it and I’ll walk out that door. How could the universe give you such a bad soul, mate?!”

“It’s a book, Dan. Nothing is as it seems.”

//

half a splenda

//

Phil fell asleep in my lap thirty minutes ago. The movie’s credits ended twenty minutes ago. I don’t have the heart to move him, I never do. He does this often to be honest, first to fall asleep and last to wake up, every time. I like it though. It gives me time to escape from his snuggles without looking like I’ve been there all night. I soak in the precious moments before dawn where Phil is mine and I am his.

Phil’s face is half covered by his fist, and his chest is gently rising against mine. I run my fingers through his hair and feel the push of breath ghosting my abdomen.

The credits play with a gentle upbeat tone that is expected from a Ghibli movie. I watch the credits skate by. Most of the people are unheard of, small compared to the whole process. I wonder about them sometimes -- Phil and I have even begun a game of giving them backstories. It’s fun until the unfitness of life smacks me across the cheek and Phil has to let my head rest on his shoulder for an hour. I wonder if they excel, I wonder if they’re happy, sad, dead -- Phil says I wonder to much, I’m starting to believe him.

The cool night fills our apartment and my eyes drift over to the open living room door. A chill runs through me as the darkness fills my head with unsettling thoughts of the girl from the ring or slenderman.

I don’t believe in any horror creatures, I don’t believe in mermaids, I don’t believe in wizards, I am probably the most boring person to ever walk the Earth. Despite those facts, my fear transcends the rift between reality and takes me to an entirely different balance, where the night allows every dark creatures to ever grace my eyes, for a mere second, the gift of life.

Basically, I’m terrifying myself.

Ironic.

It’s easy to push my fears away when Phil’s body is pressed to the couch with me and his dark hair lies sprawled across my white shirt. I can allow myself to think “Phil thoughts” instead of thinking of an evil monster coming to kill me in torturous ways that Stephen King has yet to imagine.

“Phil thoughts” consist of seven things. When we met at the train station (after many, many hours of pleading my mom for permission to meet a boy from the internet), us moving in together, us playing around in our apartment, the occasional deep talks we had wrapped in a cocoon of darkness and tequila, youtube videos we could do together, lazy days with my head on his chest and his body on my bed, and -- the greatest of all -- the day Phil finally realizes that the tattoos on our wrists don’t mean shit.

Someday he will, I know he will. Someday we’ll be out partying or just eating cereal in our pajamas and his rose colored thoughts of soulmates and tattoos will break away. Then he’ll love me as I have loved him for so long and we can go skipping off into the sunset, like two people who don’t give a fuck about anything.

I fell in love with Phil on a Monday. No particular Monday, I don’t remember the day or the time. It was just a Monday -- ironic seeing as I hate Mondays -- and Phil and I were laying on the floor. We weren’t speaking but that was okay, those are the best days, the days nobody needs to talk to understand each other. I wanted a coffee and for some reason Phil got up and asked if I wanted a coffee, of course I would say yes. When Phil came back, he handed me a tan colored drink inside of a Winnie the Pooh mug. I asked him what he’d done to it. We’d only known each for 2 days and he already knew the way I took my coffee. Without question, he just knew. He laid down next to me again and I told him the way he took his coffee. We fit, we clicked so fast and move so fluently together that it’s impossible for anyone to know Phil better than me. Right?

I guess some things about Phil, I don’t know. Like what he eats after the intimate stuff and if his lips are so-- scratch that. I know what his lips feel like (scotch is one hell of a drink and love is so much worse).

Phil readjusts in my lap, pressing his nose to my stomach, letting his mouth drop open. A glop of spit forms at the corner of his lip, and that’s when I call it quits.

Waking up Phil is hard, seeing as he has the patience of a child after taking a six hour nap and he wakes up like a slug on a Saturday. I start to play with his hair and I feel him calm down. My brain is freaking out as the drool glop grows and threatens to spill over my favorite plaid pajama pants. I will kill him if he gets these wet -- no pun intended. I start to poke Phil’s cheeks. Although they are a deal thinner than mine, they’re still fun to poke. I can tell that Phil is waking up as his eyebrows furrow and his jaw readjust. I poke his head and nose a little more until he bats my hand away, sleepily and slowly.

“Stop,” Phil whines and draws out the ‘p’. I laugh at him and poke him a few more times until he’s fully up, swiping at me now.

“Never. You were about to drool all over me.” I laugh and Phil leans back, used to waking up in this position with me.

“Maybe I should just spit on you, now.” Phil jokes and leans back towards my stomach.

I laugh playfully and push him away. “Don’t you dare. I will throw you into a train.”

“I like trains.”

“Weirdo.”

We head to bed together, Phil stumbling and me playfully pushing him towards the floor.

“You’re going to break my nose, Dan,” Phil complains and leans against his bedroom door.

“Good, maybe you’ll get a cool band aid and I can sign it.” I say but the last part breaks into a question. I cringe at how stupid I sounded and head towards my door.

“Like, I would let y- FUCK!” Phil suddenly falls on his butt and leans heavily on the door.

Sirens fill my head and I hurry to Phil’s side, feeling his body for wounds. “Are you sick? What hurts?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Phil pushes me back by my shoulder and a gasp gets caught in my throat. “It’s just, that girl from earlier. We’re soulmates. I know we are, we have to be. I need to find her, Dan.” Phil grabs my shirt front and I see tears forming in his eyes.

My heart breaks, a crack of pain straight through my chest and a ball forms in my throat. I force my tears away and smile shakily -- if this is what Phil wants, I have to help him. I’m his best friend, this is the least I can do for him. No matter how much it hurts. “Okay, okay.”

“Okay, what?” I can see the tears in Phil’s eyes, along with the quiver in his voice. All of which only works to build the ball in my throat. I stand up and help Phil to his feet, gently balancing him out.

“Okay, I’ll help you find her. Whatever it takes.”

//

one creamer

//

“Ten bars in two weeks and still no sign of her,” I sigh and set my cocktail on the black granite bar that lacks coasters. Phil is sat next to me in his best shirt -- a blue one, covered in black hearts -- twirling his straw around the ice in his glass, listening to the gentle dings as glass collides with the ice. Music thumps through the floor and our ears, loud buzzing from music destroying the sound barrier, joining in with the beat.

A blond waiter smirks at us from across the bar, flicking his blond quiff back upwards. He finishes cleaning a few glasses before returning to our seats. I can feel his eyes on me. I bite my lip subconsciously -- I’ve always had a thing for blonds, natural or otherwise. He leans forward and gingerly takes my chin in his fingers, he tilts my head up so I can meet his smirk.

“Want a refill? Free for such a cutie.” He winks and my entire body flushed dark red.

I gently pull away from his fingers and lean closer to Phil -- hoping he would pretend we were dating so the man would stay away if we happened to come back. But when my head tilts to the side, I see Phil gazing off towards the door, eyes bored.

The bartender flicks his eyes between us before finally pulling back from the counter. He mouths, facing away from Phil, “Relationship troubles?”

I shake my head so softly that even I can’t tell if I moved or not. The bartender nods and takes my empty glass away. “On the house.”

I nod in thanks and turn back to Phil, seeing his eyes settled back onto me. “What was that about?”

“The bartender likes me,” I shrug nonchalantly and drum against the counter -- the techno song currently playing is hard to find a beat in.

“Course.” Phil murmurs to himself before twirling his ice again. I feel myself glaring at the glass but blink my anger away. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, he’s just pissed because his “soulmate” is off somewhere being fu-

“Phil?” A girl with long brown hair laughs joyously and pushes a lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Phil!”

Phil jerks himself up and races to the girl. He tosses his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. She giggles and hugs him back, her hair draped over his torso. So much longer than mine -- I can feel my fingers subconsciously twirl my fringe.

A glass settles down beside me and I jerk away from the scene -- a spike of pain running through my heart. The bartender is giving me a sad look, handing the overfilled glass to me. “I’m sorry mate. That looks like something more.”

I nod shakily and set my head on my fist. Something inside me said we were going to be here a long while.

“I’ll get you something to eat, they just settled down.” the bartender states and walks over to his curly haired co worker. The other bartender looks over to me with big eyes and laughs happily when he sees it’s me, I smile brightly and straighten up.

“Hey Peej! When did you get this job?” I ask and look around the tattered dive. This was one of Phil’s “last resort” bars. Bars of which we made a list of for if push comes to shove. I guess the plan went smoothly.

“Just last week, it’s kind of shit but it chalks up the last of the bills since Bee.” he glances down at the bar sadly but shakes his head suddenly. “Well, anyway, it’s kind of nice here. Some people’s stories are outrageous.”

“Like what?” I ask and the blond bartender serves a drink to the only other man at the bar. Phil’s laughters joins in with one of a higher pitch behind me and my heart stumbles all over again.

“Well,” PJ serves as a pleasant distraction from the whole group behind me. He speaks adamantly of the people he’s met, and the blond man -- named Jamie -- joins in with witty comments from time to time. They take my mind off of Phil for almost the whole hour until the sound of a throat clearing comes from behind me.

I turn around and see Phil’s arm looped around the girl’s waist. She’s smiling brightly and her hips curve inward to create a perfect hourglass, something quick and painful burns in the bottom of my throat.

“Dan? We’re heading back now. See you in the morning?” Phil asks and his eyes flicker to PJ next to me.

“Wh-what?” I choke out just as they turn towards the door.

Phil pauses with a sigh, not even turning his head towards me -- his best friend -- as he answers. “You’re going to PJ’s, right?”

“Well I wasn’t pl-planning but I guess, I-I mean if you're going to. But you aren’t, r-right?” I stutter my way through the sentence and the girl looks back at me with wide eyes. I avoid eye contact, it’ll only set my throat aflame.

At that, Phil slowly releases his hold on the girl and walks over to me. He leans in close to my ear and I flinch -- actually flinch -- as his breath ghosts my hair. “Listen, Dan, you’re my best friend and I love you loads, but just let us be alone for tonight? Who knows, maybe you’ll find your soulmate here too.”

“Y-yeah,” I fake a smile, the word feeling sticky on my tongue. Phil leans back and smiles at me gently, I don’t look into his eyes.

He frowns, he doesn’t like it. I can tell.

But instead of saying anything, he gently clasps my shoulder and straightens up. My body relaxes under his gentle touch and his thumb rubbing little circles into my shoulder blade.

“Be careful with him, okay Peej?” Phil warns, his voice harder than when he was talking to me.

“I’ll do my best.” PJ answers with the same stand offish tone -- I can’t help but roll my eyes. Great, now I have to deal with this verbal game of ‘who cares more about Dan?’

Phil would win -- I’m not saying anything, but Phil would win everytime.

//

two sugars

//

I flop down on PJ’s couch and admire his newly decorated ceiling. PJ has always been one for arts and crafts, even since Phil met him in Uni and introduced him to me. PJ made me a paper flower to discharge the awkwardness of being strangers and our friendship -- dare I say, blossomed.

Today, his ceiling was covered in a swarm of baby blue paper cranes, all taped delicately to the high ceiling and following a path towards the door, thickening the closer it got. They swirled delicately as PJ closes the door, and float like real birds with every step he takes. PJ walks over to his neon purple kitchen -- thanks to two colored lights and all white aesthetic choices -- and roots around for a ‘present’ he got me a few days ago.

“What’s this present for?” I ask teasingly as PJ bangs his head on the cabinet. He hisses and straightens back up with a floppy package in hand.

“You deserve it. A tour, a book; you deserve to dance in front of the mirror and let you be you, even on your bad days.” PJ shrugs and plays with a curl nervously. He sits down across from me, setting the package in my lap.

“If this is like an IPhone, I’m going to shit myself.” I say randomly as I tug the bow off and work on the flashy silver paper.

PJ laughs, “If this was an IPhone, I’d be shitting myself.”

“Woah Peej, calm down. That bartending job really racked the bills in, didn’t it?” I laugh and finally tear the wrapping paper. My giggles stop short and a cool rush of fear hits my veins. My hands shake as they gently touch what’s inside the box only to find the skin colored item wrapped in plastic. “P-PJ, is this um, is it real?”

It’s PJ’s turn to laugh and he takes that opportunity in bulk. He doubles over and slaps his hand to his knee a few times. His eyes flicker to mine and his laughter multiples. “S-stop looking at me like that. I’m going to throw u-up.”

“Well if you're a murder, I’d like to know! And if you’re fetishizing me I’m flattered bu-” I wiggle the plastic from the wrapping and stare at the item.

For one reason or another, I start to cry.

I have this dream sometimes. A dream where Phil is in my arms and then he’s not. He’s sleeping peacefully and then he’s up on his hands and knees and he’s touching- he’s touching the round bulges beneath my shirt. He’s happy and playing with me. I’m happy for everything. Then I wake up.

This time, I stay asleep.

“PJ. You di-didn't,” before I can even think, my hands are pulling my shirt away and I’m tightening the strap of the fake breast, pressed to my nipples.

PJ smiles with soft eyes, and helps me strap it tight enough, then pulls my shirt over my head. He kisses my forehead as I look down at the soft bulges on my chest. I’ve only had one packer before, but Phil almost found it and I had to throw it out the window. God, I was so dramatic in 2011.

“I figured you could wear it whenever you were at my place and maybe when we go out.” PJ answers and I can’t help but slide my hands under my shirt, feeling the soft plastic nipples beneath my fingertips.

“PJ you motherfucker! They feel so real!” I laugh and grab PJ’s wrists, tugging them under my jumper.

PJ turns red as he settles his hands on my squishy breast and tentatively squeezes the mounds. “I can feel your heartbeat.” He swallows nervously and his cheeks tinged pink, cutely.

“PJ, you’re touching my boob heart right now,” I say seriously and grab his neck in response. He looks over to me and I see his eyes flicker downwards towards my lips, as his fingers twirl the fake nipples.

“You’re such a nerd, Dan.” PJ laughs gently and I smile in response.

“I know,” and then I tug his collar and we’re kissing, hard. The kind of kissing where your lips are just mashed together as you both struggle to find a good footing in the situation. His hand runs through my hair and his free one floats down from my boob to my stomach. I laugh against his lips and find myself sat in his lap, my hands settled on his chest.

Then we start to kiss and he’s much less enthusiastic than me, preferring to sit back and crane his head as I arch my back and jostle around in his lap. My lips move fast and vigorously wherever he lets them.

Somewhere along the way, I jerk from my daze and find myself pressed to the wall. The wall of PJ’s room that I know is squished insanely close to Phil’s.

I don’t let us move, I want Phil jealous.

I don’t take my shirt off either, Peej doesn’t care.

When the clock chimes for the hundredth time, I force my head to lift off the sheets. A pain is rushing through my lower back and I collapse back on the pillow before I can reach over to turn off that damned alarm. I hear PJ sleeping soundly beside me and I have half the head to kick him in the shins, he deserves it for waking me up with that stupid clock and being so hard -- even if I wanted it, but you shush about that.

I press my face into the flat pillow and tug the blanket over my exhausted body once again. I am seriously out of shape, my thighs burn with every movement and my stomach is stuck to the sheets.

PJ breathes steadily beside me and horrible guilt twists in my stomach. His arm is draped over my shoulder and his leg over both of my knees, I can’t escape his embrace, even as regret flows through me. I shouldn’t have done that to PJ, he, for one, believes in soulmates and doesn’t know yet that he’s a rebound from Phil.

Another spike of guilt drives through my stomach when I think of Phil. I was so angry at him and I forced myself to be loud, so he heard everything. God, I’m such a mess, aren’t I?

Tears build in the corner of my eyes and I bury my head in my arms. Now I’ve lost both of them to some angry night and some packers, I’m such an idiot.

The fire in my throat twirls into a ball and I feel my body jerk as I hold down sobs. I settle on my knees and bite my arm to stop any noise, my body shaking so hard. I can’t lose them both to some stupid thing, this will make everything so horribly awkward between us.

“Hey,” a croaky voice says from next to me. I don’t look over but I feel PJ slide me closer to him. He wraps his arm around my full shoulder and kisses my temple gently. “Hey, what’s up?”

I cook up a lie as fast as I can, my muffled voice erupts from the pillows. “My fucking legs hurt, you dick.”

PJ laughs against my hair and rubs my shoulder. “You chose the position!”

I roll my eyes and pull away from PJ’s gentle touches. He doesn’t say anything but gives me my space instinctively. I smile to myself at his kindness and massage my thighs, ripples of pain running through my lower body.

PJ stands up and stretches, he tugs on a pair of boxes and presses a stubbly kiss to my cheek. “I’m going to make something to eat. Stay here if you like.”

“Okay,” I smile gently and let him give me a loose hug.

In a wild attempt to turn off my brain, I lean over the bed, pushing my packers aside to collect my phone from my pants. I lean back and place my chin on my chest, creating a collection of chins. My phone takes a while to power up, but when it does, hundreds of text overtake my vision.

Philru : my love came home with me

Philru: dont come in my room until i text u its okay alright? ;DD

Philru: r u and peej ok? lots of banging from his apartment

Philru: o

Philru: i just figured out >>_<<

Philru: come home around 1pm ok?

Philru: sleep will!! :DDDDDD

A few tweets and emails are mixed in but the texts are really what redden my cheeks. My skin is burning hot as the smell of toast fills the bright, homey apartment.

I text Phil back with a single word.

‘will’

A rush of satisfaction fills me as the message sends. Phil is always correcting my grammar over text because he’s an asshole. Any day I can get back at him and his perfect grammar is a good day.

The thoughts of self-hatred gnaw back into my head, I click open a few gaming apps to focus my attention away from my head. The first app is ‘A Thousand Ways to Die’ and the quick, anxiety-inducing movements fill my head. Successfully blocking everything out for the time being.

My morning breath makes me cringe every time I yawn. My neck hurts from the assemblage of hickeys that I had liked in the moment but am now planning on slapping PJ for. Every time I turn my head, a burst of pain comes from the left side of my neck and frankly, I’m blaming PJ.

I’ve only had sex with men twice and I keep expecting myself to be fine in the morning. My heart keeps telling me it will feel okay with my soulmate and nothing will hurt, but my mind knows better. My mind knows no matter how much I love someone, my body still hurts; even after a simple makeout session. I’m probably just sensitive.

The door opens and PJ comes in with a tray of breakfast for us both.

“Surprise!” He says with a smile, placing the draw in my lap. He climbs into bed beside me, snuggling into my chest, his thick, curly hair tickling my chin.

I swallow harshly and pick up the plate, shoving food into my mouth to avoid talking with PJ.

Oh lord, what have I done?

//

splash of caramel

//

The room smells like marshmallow candle and cotton candy perfume. The mix causing my stomach to growl and my throat to jump.

It’s been two months since Lily found us again and the days drag on. Sunday has become Phil’s “date night” and while I’m happy that he’s happy -- I’m lying to us all.

She’s nice, she’s funny, she’s always fucking happy. She’s so bright and sweet, I bet she looks amazing under her clothes. Not some choppy mess with a penis and small, growing mounds that are hidden by a sports bra. Her body is probably curvy and cleanly shaven with no tan lines or scars. She’s perfect. I’m not.

They’re in the other room, giggles floating through the thin walls. I have half a mind to ask Phil for his earplugs but I just know it will become a big thing that emotionally fucks both of us.

He still thinks about the speed incident. I see it in his eyes whenever he looks at me. I see the sympathy that I can’t stand seeing in ordinary people let alone Phil, my Phil. It makes me feel like some looney, or like I’ve disappointed him, and I never wanted to do that.

We still hang out, every day just lazing in the lounge or the office. We film videos but they become rarer than they already are. Our fans never notice, they just use some memes to complain and carry on; even when Phil tweets about good days out of town and I tweet about my day inside with the shutters drawn.

On some stupid level, I feel like they betrayed me. Like the fans didn’t prod deep enough, like they didn’t care enough to notice our change in personality. I’ve stopped feeling connected to my fans and that hurts. My fans mean so much and it’s so nice for them to be able to talk to me in live shows, for people to actually care about what I have to say.

Back in highschool, I talked about the universe, about exams, about My Chemical Romance. I talked to anyone who bothered to listen, and it never turned out well for me. It ended in detentions, obnoxiously loud shushing, and god Dan, why don’t you just shut up once in awhile? Nobody cared what I said and sometime between year 10 and 11, I finally learned to shut up. I didn’t bother to talk in class for a long time, I didn’t bother to lift my head, I didn’t bother, period.

You could say Youtube changed me, or Phil changed me, or anything really. Youtube gave me a way to talk to people who wouldn’t tell me to keep quiet. People who would plead for me to talk more and comment sadly when I had to leave YouNow. It gave me a chance to talk and talk, and to bother. The fans made me bother, the fans made me care, it was perfect harmony.

I lay back in my sofa crease, letting my head flop over the back so I could stare at the ceiling. A boring expanse of white, fitting.

In twenty minutes, I was set to visit my family for Christmas. We were going to celebrate just like every year but this year was different, this year Phil would be heading in the same direction as me, to visit Lily’s family instead. The feeling sent an imaginary punch straight through my heart, the thought slowed down my breath and elicited pain that spread from my head to my toes.

I shut my eyes to block out the thoughts and try to escape.

Regret cascades through me, I’ve been dating PJ the same amount, two months. Our relationship was the complete inverse of Phil’s. We hang out like friends when we’re alone and when we go on double dates with Phil and Lily, I ham it up to the point where we’re basically making out a cushion away from them.

It feels like revenge dating everytime I kiss PJ, the taste of it is the opposite of tantalizing on my tongue. I feel stupid when we cuddle, I feel small when I think of breaking up with him, then I feel ashamed of myself for thinking such a thing. Maybe one day Phil will be jealous and finally love me back. Maybe.

Maybe I’m fucking with my head.

“Hey, Dan?” Phil asks from the other room, followed by a giggle and muffled whisper.

I force my hands to stop fidgeting -- they’d been tapping the keyboard but not pressing any keys as that train of thought chugged through my worn brain. “Yeah?” I answer back as loud as I can so the volume overpowers the emotion.

“Have you seen my lotion? The citrus one?” Phil asks. I can hear the floors creak as Phil heads into the hallway, followed by another, softer set.

For a second, I allow myself to be jealous of her somehow feminine footsteps. Then scold myself for having such strict gender roles, feminine walks weren’t possible, gender roles don’t exist damn it.

“No, why?” Yes I have, it’s in my bed side drawer. He doesn’t need to know that though, it just sounds creepy -- even in my head.

“No reason, Lily just needs some and I’m out of the vanilla.” Phil walks into the room, hair scruffy and glasses on. It hits me then that it’s 2pm and it’s the first time I’ve seen my best friend all day. I turn back to the ceiling.

“The one you tried to fool me into eating?” I ask. Phil snickers at the memory, causing my mouth to twitch into a smile.

“It was for science!” Phil reassures me between giggles.

“And what science was that?” I ask and roll my eyes at him.

“Too see if I would eat it while I sleepwalked or something.” Phil answers. He even shrugs like it was something I should have known.

“So you would’ve sacrificed me to lotion gods to save your ass?” I ask and force myself to look over at his cheerful face.

“Exactly,” Phil opens his mouth to say more but a high pitched voice cuts him off.

“Phil! I found your bowties, do you want red or blue?” Lily asks, her voice sweet as honey.

My blood pumps a bit faster and I hate myself for hating her.

“Blue! Or, actually is it the pug shirt or the white one?” Phil turns away and walks back to his own room.

My eyes float back to the ceiling and I finally just close my laptop, there’s no way I’m getting any work done right now. My train leaves in an hour and while my suitcase is propped at my feet, my backpack is empty. Normally if Phil and I were going in the same direction, we’d share a backpack but that obviously wasn’t happening today.

I start to pack my leather one. I hum some song I don’t know the name of as I fish under the couch for my charger. I can still hear the giggling through the wall but I tune it away, it’s a fucking heartbreak to be anywhere near them right now.

Most of me wants to be happy because Phil’s happy and Phil matters to me. And if Phil’s happiness makes me unhappy, is it anyone’s fault but my own?

I tell my brain to shut up and zip my backpack shut.

The train ride is in short, torture. I didn’t even know it was possible to hate, envy, be jealous of, and admire someone all at once. Lily is like a explosive creativity bomb that I will -- begrudgingly say -- mends with Phil beautifully. Begrudgingly.

It’s like eating a rotten orange, it’s squishy on your tongue and stings the entire way down, and it stains anything it touches for as long as possible. I knew I shouldn’t have let them sit right next to me but how fucking obvious would that have been?

And Phil is stupid. Fucking dumb because he just doesn’t get it, it just doesn’t work in his brain. Nothing clicks, he’s so busy springing to forty different topics a second that he doesn’t notice I’m even next to him. I end up staring out the window for an hour, having forgotten my headphones at home like always. Of course I would loose the one thing to get me through this trip.

They’ve moved on to talking about the deep stuff. The childhood sadness and fear of growing old bullshit that I can’t say two words about without having a crisis. Maybe all that time I was just overreacting, being silly, if they can talk about it, surely I can.

Phil’s saying some childhood story I already know, he’s saying the sheep one again -- he claims is a “good icebreaker” in any conversation. It makes me happy that she doesn’t know that yet.

Lily’s laughing and it’s a nice sound. Girly and high pitched, little giggles that build up before falling. Why is everything about her so much more feminine than me?

And I almost think it for a second before I can stop myself. “Because you’re trans.” I don’t like to think it, in fact, I fucking hate the thought. I’m a girl, simple as that. I wish.

Because I wasn’t born a girl, I wasn’t born with naturally big eyes and shaped hips. I don’t know why and -- fuck, this is fucking annoying.

GENDER ROLES ARE FOR RABBITS IN HEAT NOT PEOPLE.

I laugh to myself for a second before settling back into my chair and listening to Phil’s story, he’s at the part with his teacher having to chase a kid that mounted the sheep like a horse and took off through the school.

“Phil, you always play it up. They found him like two minutes later,” I say with an eyeroll and a sarcastic tilt in my voice to make him finally notice something.

He doesn’t. Instead, they both give me the big eyed ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’ face. I can feel heat crawling onto my face and turn away quickly. “Nevermind.”

“No, no, Dan. I was talking about the year after, remember? When the kid took a sheep home?” Phil smiles and I spare him a glance.

“I don’t remember that one,”

“Aw, I haven’t told you? It was amazing,” Phil laughs to himself at the memory before he turns to Lily and continues.

I guess I don’t know what I thought I knew. Fuck.

//

stir until an even milky brown

//

It’s my mum who eventually tosses my entire Jenga tower life onto it’s side. The pieces scatter and clack together like an explosion rocked through me.

The countryside around London will never not be beautiful. The stars twinkle bright as gigantic burning balls of gas should, the air is fresh with hints of water rippling through out, you can walk for hours and only hear the birds peacefully singing their song.

I lay on my back on the shoveled pavement, staring at the open sky with the tops of trees breaking the bright blue sky. Those trees that I am grateful for, they always remind me to keep myself grounded. My phone sits untouched on my chest and I long for the short vibration to rock my body. Phil hasn’t texted me in so long and it feels like a goddamned travesty because he breathes the same oxygen I do but they don’t mingle into carbon dioxide together. They don’t turn into oxygen together through those hundreds of houseplants that really should be dead by now. I’ll never tell anyone how much I care for those plants. They dot the house, they change Phil and I’s CO2 into our oxygen. We breathe each other in that house and that feels so much more powerful when we’re hundreds of miles apart.

“Daniel!” Someone calls from up the hill and I groan. Rolling over to my stomach and pressing my phone to the stone. Still, it does not vibrate. “Daniel!” The voice calls again and the octave gets on my nerves.

“What!” I call back with my voice muffled by my arm.

“Nanna’s here!” I can hear the smile in my mother’s voice and scramble to my feet.

I break into a run up the hill and pocket my phone as I leap past a few sticks. The house comes into view -- my mother smiling from the glass door and Nan beside her.

Happiness explodes through my heart and even though my nan’s 5”4 to my 6”2, I pull her into a hug with my head on her shoulder. It isn’t the most comfortable of positions but it makes sense. She laughs lightly in my ear, returning the hug. She smells like lemon and grass, I almost tear up. Almost.

When we finally pull away, she pats my cheeks and pushes my fringe into a sloppy quiff.

“Danny, what happened to you? You look so pale!” She fusses and looks at my splotchy colored hand.

“It’s winter Nan, don’t worry about me,” I laugh and hug her again.

She makes an ‘oof!’ sound and I laugh against her shoulder again. “Well, I hope you know that I’m going to do it anyway.”

“ ‘Course,” I grin and my cheeks hurt, before Grampa even walks in, a dusty shoebox in hand.

“Look what I found!” He says and shakes the box in the air. It’s contents rattle and Nan scoffs.

“Gramps, be careful with that,” she places her hands on her hips and eventually he straightens out his hold. She then turns to me with a smile on her face, illuminating her wrinkles which seem to sit perfect on her face. Or maybe that’s because I’ve only seen her with the wrinkles. Still, she is beautiful. “We brought some of your old tapes from when you were small. At first we tried to convert them to UBS? USB? One of those stick things that holds memory, but it didn’t work. We figured that you’re pretty savvy, so they’re in your hands.”

I grin and walk over to hug my grandfather, the same amount as my nan. He hands me the box and I open it to see some scratched up tapes piled together. Labels all filled out in a loopy, cursive handwriting that I can easily recognize. I’d asked my mother for a few tapes for a video (totally not inspired by Phil, cough) and she had none. Thank god for nan pulling through at the last second (and thank god I was able to teach her how to make a groupchat for this to happen).

I sift through the titles and let out a loud laugh when I stumble upon the bottom one. “‘Bath time’ really?”

“You were cute.” Nan laughs and I feel my face turn hot. I bury my head in the box for a second before looking up at her.

“I’m always cute.” She rolls her eyes playfully and pats my cheek again. She likes to pat my cheeks and pinch my dimple in a very grandma-esqe form of lowkey torture.

“Just what I was about to say. You were such an adorable little boy,” she laughs to herself at the memories and sits on the couch. I can already feel a reminiscing story coming on.

I sit next to her and close the shoebox. She leans back to stare at the blank television before speaking.

“You were always so bright, Dan. So amazingly, positively bright. I remember you used to brighten up the whole room. Always putting on a song or a play for us all to watch. Sometimes we wouldn’t even watch but you were still there, playing with your fake pillow guitar or acting out a riveting scene between you and Teddy. I remember one time,” she smiles brightly and her eyes lock with mine. Soft blue meets a murky brown. “You kept asking us to call you Lara. Call me Lara, Nan! I’m Lara now! You spent at least two months on that before you got into your Winnie the Pooh obsession.”

Lara

Four letters, one breath.

“Lara James Howell,” I whisper and smile to myself. Something inside of me seems to click, for a moment it seems as if a piece fell into a puzzle. Though it didn’t finish the puzzle, you got to connect a new corner to another half and the satisfaction from that alone is good, almost too good.

“I still have no idea where you got Lara. We didn’t even know a Lara, but yes, Dan. Lara James Howell,” Nan smiles and even in her voice it sounds right.

I didn’t know what it would feel like, to discover my name name. The name I want to be known by forever, it feels amazing, beyond amazing. I can’t wait to tell everyone, I can’t wait to scream it from the rooftops and shake the floor. I can’t wait, I can’t wait, I can’t wait.

“That’s it,” I say gently, voice catching.

“That’s what, sweetheart?” Nan asks and I hug her again, squishing her against my chest.

“That’s my name! That’s perfect!” She hugs me back equally as hard and pinches my obvious dimple.

“I love you, my little Lara.”

Nan tops screaming from the rooftops anytime. But she’s just the start.

I spend the rest of my trip coming out the anyone and everyone who will listen. Old people with wrinkly grins, middle aged men with patches of grey hair, little toddlers with chubby cheeks and fat fingers. It felt nice too tell people -- long as I avoided teenagers and preteens, there were no consequences.

When I got home, I immediately ran upstairs towards PJ’s apartment. I’ve been reminiscing this moment since I figured out my real name, I knew Pj would react in the best of ways -- he’d probably lift me into the air and hug my shoulders like when I came out. He was so happy for me that day that he took Phil and I to dinner; Phil unbenounced to why PJ was hugging me so much.

After that day, I’ve trusted PJ with my life. I know that even if he killed me he would be making the best possible decision. PJ is one of my good friends and -- according to all his ‘love you baby’ and ‘goodnight sunlight’ texts -- he doesn’t know that yet.

How do you exactly tell someone they’re a rebound? The words float through my head with every step towards Peej’s apartment. I don’t want to break his heart because I know if I did, he’d leave me forever. I can’t lose him over this.

I gnaw on my lip as I knock on PJ’s door, butterflies flying through my stomach. Even though I’m out to PJ, it still scares me to tell him these personal things.Though, I never have been good with the heart to heart type stuff. I’ve never been good at being open with anyone actually. It just makes me feel exposed and awkward.

The door flies open and PJ hugs me on instinct. He smells like hot glue and sharpies. Instantly, my worried melt away and I find myself hugging him back just as hard, the news screaming to be said.

“I missed you,” PJ says, voice muffled by my hair. He pulls away and takes my hands gently. My stomach flops and if it wasn’t for the tightness in my throat, I would have said it was butterflies.

“Me too,” I smile with one corner of my lip and let my hands drop. PJ invites me in with a single step to the side and I hurry to make myself at home with the oddly colored everything and cushion crease on the white couch.

I flop down with no further plan, my legs splaying every which way. I lay my head back on the sofa with a warm sigh. PJ’s apartment smells just like hot glue as well -- I’m not surprised -- he burns through two packs of sticks a month.

PJ sits next to me, setting his feet on the coffee table before thinking better of it and resting them on the couch. He leans against my shoulder and I chuckle -- the pit in my stomach widening.

PJ always moves. It’s in his blood, he’s always working on the next project, or snapping his fingers, or humming, or pacing around his house. He’s a pot of energy that wobbles with the breeze. I love to watch him work, watch the way his fingers jerk around a paper or glue covered, cardboard mess as his mind struggles to fit all the steps in order. The only thing in his brain, the final product sitting before him in all it’s glory.

“Dan? You’re zoning out.” PJ snaps before my eyes in three small motions. I look down at him and he smiles gently. “You said you had something to tell me when you got home. And that was a week ago. I’ve waited long enough, asshole!” He scolds playfully.

“Right, right Drama King. Can’t just let an old woman lay can you?” I chide and PJ snorts next to my ear.

“I’m older than you are,” he reminds me with a playful, light slap to my shoulder.

“How could I forget, grandfather?” I smile. I move my finger towards his nose and his eyes widen, slowly backing away from the digit until he toppled into my lap.

“Bullying,” he whines and stares up at me. “But seriously, what did you want to tell me.”

It takes me a long while to form the words. My lips keep drying so I lick them over and over until they're basically dripping with slobber. I bite my lip again and picks at a piece of dead skin. Finally, I take a deep breath. “So my grandmother was looking through old video tapes and she- she found one where I was young. Super young, I couldn’t have been older than five. And I was asking everyone to call me, Lara.”

The air in the room seems to stop completely, millions of atoms tensing along my skin. Picking and bumping each separate piece of goosebump until my skin is itching. My mouth struggling to form the words -- to beg him for an answer. To beg him to call me Lara and hug me like he always does. I itch at the goosebumps but they just crawl to the next arm.

“Lara,” he smiles to himself and plays with his fingers intently. His eyes don’t meet mine and in my head I’m screaming at him to give me a glance, a laugh, something new.

“Lara Dan Howell?” He asks and I gently shake my head, my stomach flipping.

“Lara James Howell,” I answer and he freezes. PJ’s eyes turn wide and he stares at me for a few moments before shakily pulling himself to his feet. He walks over to me quickly and tilts forward, his hand hitting the couch beside my waist.

“Lara James,” he asks gently and I back away as gentle as possible. He was beginning to scare me. “LJH? Are you sure?”

“Peej, what are y-” my brain short circuits and all thoughts point to one person. Or should I say one tattoo. “Fuck. Fuck okay.”

We don’t say anything for a while, then the tears drip down my face and my hands start to shake -- no, not shake, they basically fucking vibrate.

“I fucking hate coincidences.” I tell PJ. He laughs but his eyes are sad. “I’m sorry it wasn’t you.” I whisper and PJ just laughs again.

“How do you know it’s not her? How can you just tell you’re meant to be together? Why did the tattoo pick that name for you? Why is everything bad happening to me?” he rants with a smile pasted on the entire time.

“I don’t know why it chose this name. Why does it chose any of our names? Why do your initials say what they do? What if your soulmate is younger than you? How do your initials know? We can’t just keep asking like five year olds. We need to except this is life. You know I love you PJ, I’m so fucking sorry it wasn’t how you wanted.” My lip is quivering and I feel sick. I hate when others hurt, I hate when it’s my fault.

“I’m sorry, Lara. I really fucking am. I just want to meet the one already. I’m just being selfish if I keep you trapped here when you love someone else.” PJ lays his head down on the couch beside me, curls tangling over my thigh. We look back at the explosion of color on the ceiling until PJ says something to break the strangely good ambience.

“So, Lara, like Lara Croft?” I can feel his smile without looking down.

“It’s your fault I’ve got fucking Double D’s” I joke in response and feel his laugh vibrate through the couch. PJ has one of those ridiculously deep voices that makes the Earth shake. Whenever he lowers his voice to what should be a whisper, it’s more like a small airplane flying overhead.

“Hey, they were on sale and I didn’t know your size.” He pouts and plays with the lining of my travel (Phil’s) hoodie.

“All of my good shirts are stretched out, dickwad.” That makes his laugh hard, and this time it reaches his eyes too.

//

maybe a marshmallow if he’s having a bad day

//

Courage is a lot of things. It’s running into burning buildings, it’s touching that dog that bit you three weeks ago, it’s jumping off a building with only a cord attached to your waist. Courage can be stupid, it can be brave, most of the time though, it’s both. Courage can last for a fleeting second or slowly manifest over time, like vines on an abandoned building. Courage is courage and it takes months for courage to find my heart.

It’s Phil that pushes me to say it. In the end, he was on his phone chatting with Bryony and the topic just came up. The word ‘trans’ floated through the wall and I couldn’t help but press my ear against it, I had to know where he was going with this all. There’s a few seconds of muffled laughter, then he says something that breaks me temporarily.

“The trans lifestyle? Why would they even write that. It’s so stupid. Trans people are just regular people that want to be called something we decided they can’t be called because of their private parts. Teen magazines are always trying to stir up shit storms.” Then he laughs gently and I fall very ungracefully unto my ass.

That was six hours ago, he went out with Lily five minutes after that and I vowed to tell him the moment he got home. He wasn’t appalled by trans people, I’m so fucking stupid.

I don’t call PJ in this time, instead just taking deep breathes into a paper bag and inching the needle into my thigh. My head is sideways on the couch and my free arm is struggling to untighten itself. I fucking hate needles.

The door downstairs hits the wall with a bang, a playful scream following. I cover my boxers with a pillow but otherwize make no move to cover myself.

Phil rushes in with Lily right behind him, gripping at his shirt with her hair flowing behind her. Not curly and messy in the least, I shake my head to stop the train of thought. I can’t keep comparing myself to her, she’s not the perfect woman and neither am I.

There’s a gasp from across the room and I push the plunger, allowing the E to enter my body and work it’s silent magic. Then I pull the needle out and place a piece of caramel in my mouth. “Hey guys.” I say with my mouth full. I pull up my yoga’s and start to pack everything away.

“Dan, you promised.” Phil whispers, his voice heartbroken. I feel the bed dip with his presence and subconsciously lean closer to his chest.

I’m quiet for a few seconds before turning to Phil. Lily is in the background, busying herself with her purse.

Somewhere inside me, courage blooms like a fresh daisy and I find the strength to push the small orange bottle into his palm. “Lara.”

“What are yo-?” Then he reads the label and bile collects in my throat.

Air stands still. My body is on a pin and I can feel my body start to vibrate all over again. Breathing is hard and I’m so nervous my skin is flashing cold with hot.

“D-L-lara,” Phil stutters and puts the bottle down. “You’re so fucking stupid.”

My breath catches in my throat and instantly tears start to form. I struggle to blink them away. “W-w.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? How long have you been taking these?” Phil laughs but I can hear a spike of hurt in his voice.

Shakily, I force myself to smile with him and stutter. “2 months.”

“2 months! Why didn’t you tell me?” Phil asks and I flinch at the octave.

“2 months of what, exactly?” Lily asks from behind Phil. His smile drops and he turns to face her.

“Lily, I’m really sorry but can you leave right now? It’s just, this is a really intimate moment for us and yeah. Sorry, again.” Phil rubs the back of his neck and Lily’s mouth falls open.

“You invited me over, love. I’m sure h-”

“She’s,” Phil corrects instantly and I squeeze his upper arm gratefully.

“She?” Lily’s eyes flicker to me and she sticks up her nose. Her eyes flare in anger and she hisses in my direction. “You were born with a dick dumbass, you’re a boy.”

“Out!” Phil basically screams. He stumbles to his feet and points to the door, hands shaking.

“What Phil, I’m your sou-”

“Get out of my house. I never want to see you again!” Phil says through gritted teeth. I press my body into the couch, sure I’ve seen him mad, but I’ve never seen him this enraged.

“Fine. Fine. I hope you both have fun stuffing your dicks into each other because guess what!? No vag-”

“Shut up and get out!”

“You’re sick.” Lily says to me before her head disappears from view.

I guess she wasn't perfect, then.

Phil sits down next to me, putting his head in his hands. We are both quiet, me laying back and trying to relay the mess of emotions they just barreled into me.

“I’m sorry I made her leave, Phil.” I say quietly while pretending to repack my E case.

“Don’t be. I don’t want to date someone like that.” Phil smiles sadly and I open my arms to him. He pulls me into a hug, face buried in my shoulder.

“I know but she was your soulmate -- or, you thought so.” I answer and bury my face in his shoulder.

“So, Lara Dan Howell?” Phil asks and I laugh.

“That’s what Peej said. It’s Lara James Howell.” I laugh and brush a tear out of my eye.

“Lara James. That’s sounds adorable.” Phil’s eyes crinkle and his tongue sticks out. “LJ-” he tenses and his eyes widen. “LJH?”

“Yeah,” I cough into my fist.

“Fuck. LJH and PML,” Phil’s eyes tear up and suddenly he’s stuffing my face back in his shoulder.

“Can I add to the emotional roller coaster?” I ask and Phil pulls back, still smiling with a few happy tears on his cheeks.

“Of course.”

“I think I’m in love, Phil,” I wipe my eye and settle my head into his shoulder groove. His face now hidden from my view.

“You know what, Lara? I think I’m about to fall in love with someone too.” Phil answers and his grip tightens. “Who is the lucky person?”

“Pears Mashing Lambs.” I answer and Phil’s chest vibrates beneath my arms.

“I think I’m falling for Lice Diarrhea and Hornets.” Phil says and I splutter a laugh deep out of my throat.

“I don’t think the ‘and’ counts, Phil.” I laugh and Phil pushes me suddenly, knocking me onto my back and smiling above me. I laugh and reach up to wipe his tear away.

“It totally counts.”

“Cheater.”

“Falling for you, too.” Phil laughs and kisses my jaw before hovering over my lips.

I jerk my head up and connect our lips instantly. It’s so fucking Phil, soft and warm. Familiar scents flowing through my nose and Phil’s body hovering over mine. I run my hands through Phil’s hair and he squeezes my cheeks suddenly.

“Phil!” I complain and pull back from his touch. I rub my sore cheeks and glare at him falsely. In actuality, he was just trying to be cute but crossed the annoying boundary pretty fast.

“Sorry, love you.” Phil kisses along my jaw gently, kissing both my cheeks before nipping my lip.

“Nerd.” I laugh and kiss him fully this time. Fingers tracing every inch of his chest from his ribs to the soft bumps of his spine.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Phil asks after a second, his cheek spread out over my boney shoulder.

“Tell you what?”

“That you were trans?” I can’t help it, I stiffen. Phil feels it and is quick to rub his hand over my back.

“Well I heard you on the phone, your phone, talking about how weird trans people sounded and, and yeah,” I stutter and try to relax.

“When did I say that?” Phil asks and I feel his forehead crinkle against my neck.

“Back in 2009, I kno-”

“2009! Lar, you idiot! I was 22!” Phil laughs and relaxes all over again like it's the most natural thing in the world.

I can’t help but grin at the nickname that happened so quickly, so naturally slipped off of Phil’s tongue. “I’m 24!”

“Do you not remember when you were 22? In 2013? The hair Lara, remember the hair!”

“No, forget the hair ever happened. Your’s was so much worse than mine! Remember Mr. Hair Dye.” I ruffle his dyed locks and he stifles a laugh with me.

“It’s beautiful. Like a ripe olive.”

“You hate olives.” I move my hand down to his fingers, stroking each one gently as I finally pull away.

“Yeah, but my girlfriend loves them.” Phil says with a laugh and his tongue peeking out before he sucks it back in. My breath stutters and I freeze once again. Of course, olives are my shit but maybe they’re Lily's too, and then we’d just be carbon copies with different social standings, and honestly who would Phil pick between us then-

“You, Lar! I meant you, stop worrying so much.”

Me, Phil would pick me.

And god damnit if that’s not good enough, I don’t know what is.

//

_and that’s how Lara likes her coffee_

_but what are you asking me for? I’ve got a wedding to attend_

//

fin


End file.
